


Auld Lang Syne

by EowinSymbelmine



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Mycroft and Greg are so oblivious it hurts, New Year's Resolutions, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, love letter, mystrade, no background whatsoever, smol ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EowinSymbelmine/pseuds/EowinSymbelmine
Summary: It's important to begin a New Year with a clean slate, a clear mind, and a clear heart. At New Year's Eve, Mycroft Holmes decides to finally express his feelings, even if it will push Gregory Lestrade away from him for good.





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [potionpuzzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionpuzzle/gifts).



> This story is lovingly dedicated to @potionpuzzle, my own dearest Gregory. I hope you like it, my dear. Much love from your Mycake.
> 
> English is not my first language, so forgive me for any blatant errors. Not beta-ed, and definitely not Brit-picked.

_My dearest Gregory,_

_In the advent of a New Year, I just wanted to say thank you._

_You can’t possibly imagine the source of strength you were this past year. You helped me to stay grounded through some rather difficult, shakey paths. Your clever, roguish wit kept me sane most days, when all I wanted to do was acquire nuclear codes and vanquish this wretched planet from the skies. Talking to you always felt like a balm to my wounded mind; you never hesitated in following the odds twists and turns of my thoughts, and never chastised me, never mocked me, if I had any trouble in following yours._

  _After the last couple of months, I found myself in quite the predicament. I wished to give you space, after all that horrendous mess at Sherringford, after your invaluable help in bringing me back to my, shall we say, normal self, after I was shattered to pieces by the actions of my siblings. But I found myself unsettled. I miss our conversations. I miss our stolen cigarette breaks on the edges of crime scenes, while we observe my little brother gallivanting around, preening like a peacock under Doctor Watson’s fond gaze.  I miss our quiet evenings drinking beside the fire at The Diogenes, when our silence felt comfortable, meaningful. Heavens help me, I even miss the appalling action movies you made us watch together, laughing about the incongruences and blatant disregard for reality they had._

  _In one such occasion, you said that the Universe had the unfortunate habit of making the right people cross your path at the wrong time. You had no way of knowing how deeply that resounded within me._

  _Alas, the Fates were never gentle on me, and never had a thought to spare when it came to the matters of my heart._

  _I know exactly how that sounds. And it is, indeed, intentional. It is supposed to feel like this. A confession. I’m deeply sorry if this missive brings you any ill thoughts. That is not my intention. I just needed to get it off of my chest, bare this thoughts to sunlight and start this upcoming year with a definitive clean slate. It is time for me to let it all go._

  _That being said… Thank you, Gregory. Thank you for being my rock this past year. Thank you for looking after my little brother for so long, for offering him the chance of carving his place in the world. Thank you for offering me your friendship, your fraternal care, your easy-going affection. Thank you for taking the time to reach for me when I needed the most, and for accepting my unusual, roundabout way of caring for you._

  _I’m sorry if my dreadful habit of intruding upon your life so shamelessly, if my clumsy attentions ever brought you any type of discomfort._

  _The rest will remain unsaid, but I’m sure it will not remain unknown._

  _I wish you a very Happy New Year, in this and every other year still to come. May everything you need be readily available to you, and everything you want take very little effort to get._

_You deserve all the happiness in the Universe, and I hope the Fates give it to you._

  _Take care of yourself, my dear._

  _Sincerely yours,_

_M._

 

Mycroft removed his reading glasses, rubbing his aching eyes tiredly. It felt like he had ripped his heart from his chest and laid it open, still beating, in the hands of the man who now occupied the lion’s share of his thoughts. He hesitated for a moment, the mouse’s cursor hovering over the _Send_ button. That was it. If he sent that email, there was no taking back. He bared his soul on those few lines, showed more than he ever had shown to anyone, anytime. It was raw, sincere, and it hurt to write. Because he could feel it, deep in his heart of hearts, that this would put a definitive end in his and Gregory’s friendship. No more easy camaraderie. No more quiet moments, murmured shared thoughts between sips of scotch by the firelight. No more late night texts when he was abroad, lonely and bored.

 

But Mycroft could not bear the thought of another year holding onto this feelings, knowing that they would never be reciprocated. He simply could not.

 

He clicked _Send_.

 

All he needed was another glass of scotch, and the familiar comfort of his piano.

 

Mycroft sat at the instrument, and touched the keys absentmindedly. The grandfather clock in the library stroke midnight, and he started to play, slowly, sadly,  and sing in a small voice.

 

“ _Should auld acquaintance be forgot_

_and never brought to mind?_

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot_

_and days of auld lang syne?_ ”

 

==================================

 

When midnight came and the fireworks took the sky, Greg woke up.

 

Typical - falling asleep with a bottle of cheap liquor while _Die Hard_ played in the background and the Thai take-out got cold on the coffee table. What a way to start the year.

 

He grunted, sitting up and rubbing  carelessly through his hair, thinking that it was time to cut it again. The inspector wondered how his friends were faring this year. Sherlock and John were supposed to be at Scotland with little Rosie, visiting Harry. Mrs. Hudson was with her sister, still shook after losing her house, even though 221 Baker Street was almost fully returned to its old glory. Poor Sally was working, obviously, just like Dimmo. Molly was enjoying a long, very delayed vacation at Spain.

 

And _he_ was probably solving some end-of-the-year urgent crisis for which only his massive brain could find a solution.

 

It was at least six weeks since he last saw Mycroft. Six weeks without hearing from the man he came to consider his closest friend, the person who could understand him the best; and how Greg wished it could be so much more than that…

 

He shook his head, trying to restrain his thoughts. It would do no good, no good _at all_ , to let his thoughts go down that path. It was useless; the hopes of an old, lonely man. Best to nip them in the bud than to entertain them, and risk the closest thing he had to human connection in the last decade.

 

He reached for his mobile, seeing a flurry of texts from friends and relatives. He thought of ignoring the little icon announcing a new email; it could only be work, and he really wasn’t in the mood of dealing with it right now. He scrolled down his notifications, and was surprised when he saw:

 

**_1 new e-mail_ **

**_From: M. Holmes_ **

**_My dearest Gregory, In the advent of..._ **

 

With his heart beating erratically, Greg opened the message and started to read, feeling his legs weaker and weaker as the sentences progressed.

 

==================================

 

Mycroft heard the chime of his mobile while softly playing the _Moonlight Sonata_. He frowned, displeased. It seemed that the world could not function properly without his watchful eye even for a couple hours. He took the device in hands as it had personally offended him. The urge to simply throw the blasted thing through the window was overwhelming.

What he saw on the screen froze his thoughts.

 

**_1 new message_ **

**_From: G. Lestrade_ **

 

Feeling his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, he sat on the armchair beside the fire, breathing deeply in an attempt to stop the shivers that had started to run through his body. He unlocked the screen, and clicked in the message icon.

 

_Where are you?_

 

Three little, simple words. The simplest of the questions, and his brain couldn’t possibly provide him with an answer. _Hell_ , he thought. _Siberia_ , was a good answer. _A classified location I’m unable to disclose_.

 

His fingers were quicker.

 

_I am home. M_

 

He watched the screen for a moment, waiting for the typing bubble, waiting for it to ring, waiting for _something_. Silence and stillness were the only answers.

 

He sighed wearily, reaching again for the bottle of scotch. This was becoming a dangerous habit of his. He knew that he had an addictive streak, just like his siblings; he needed to be careful when indulging in anything, be it alcohol, nicotine or food. But he felt like the upheaval of his inner self was a solid excuse to go a little beyond the advisable.

 

He heard an engine revving down the street, and wrinkled his nose. Young hoodlums, possibly drunk, enjoying the empty Kensington roads to race, probably. The sound died abruptly, puzzling him. Surely, it isn’t…

 

His mobile chimed again.

 

_Open the gate, it’s freezing out here._

 

His mouth agape, Mycroft tried to process the words before him. Why was Gregory here? Maybe he had not read his email yet... Maybe he had gone out to a ride and was just passing through, deciding to stop by and wish Mycroft a happy New Year…

 

Yes, and maybe Mummy and Father would stop by as well, and finally tell him they were proud of the man he became, and Father Christmas would bring the Figgy Pudding.

 

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft stood up, smoothing his waistcoat. Well, that was it. Time to face the music, and have all his hopes shattered by the one he held dearest.

 

==================================

 

Greg waited, nervously. When he finished reading the email, all he could do was throw in the first clothes he could get his hands on and leave his flat like the hounds of Hell were biting his ankles. He got in his car in a panic, mind racing, breaking more than a couple of traffic laws on the way.

 

The email felt… _awfully_ like a goodbye.

 

He could feel the grief emanating from the sentences almost like  a physical blow, taking his breath away, leaving him gasping, on the verge of tears. All he could think after finishing it was _Mycroft. I have to get to him. I have to understand… I have to explain_.

 

 _I have to see him, to know_.

 

The tires screeched when he braked at the edge of St James Park, and his thoughts regained a semblance of coherency. He didn’t know if Mycroft was even home. he could be halfway across the globe, for all he knew. He could be in some kind of top secret hideaway at the end of the Earth.

 

With a trembling hand, Greg opened his glove box, rummaging for his emergency cigarettes and lighter. He opened the window and lit one up, sending a simple text.

 

_Where are you?_

 

He felt like his life depended on the answer to that simple question.

 

_I am home. M_

 

The engine roared as it came to life, and Greg cut the quiet, empty roads full of despair.

 

It would _not_ be goodbye.

 

He would not allow it.

  


==================================

 

Mycroft could see when the silhouette standing next to the stopped car smoking stamped the light out and got on the driver’s side before the gate was even halfway open. The engine was not even completely shut off when Greg jumped off, climbing the steps two by two. He stopped in front of Mycroft, grabbing his biceps firmly, panting. He looked into the politician’s eyes, a thousand questions written in his face, and waited.

 

Mycroft could barely stand, feeling the warmth of Gregory’s hands gripping his arms, sending waves of heat through the silky fabric of his shirt. He saw hurt on the brown depths before him; he saw panic, and pain, and… fondness. His brow furrowed.

 

“I… don’t understand.” Greg grinned, his breath coming a little easier.

 

“Well, that’s a first.” He smoothed his grip, hands sliding until they came to rest on the slim shoulders of the man that made everything make sense in his life. “Where do you think you are going, Mycroft?”

 

“What do you mean?” Greg pressed closer, leaving only a couple of inches between them. Mycroft swallowed nervously, eyes dancing on the inspector’s face.

 

“That letter… felt as a farewell. It felt like you expected to never see me again after you sent it.” Mycroft closed his eyes, sighing, and couldn’t look Greg in the eyes again.

 

“I… thought that was exactly what it would happen” he said, voice low and tinged with an insurmountable grief, that made Greg felt like someone had put his heart on one of those hydraulic presses and was testing how much pressure it could take before rupturing. “I know that my feelings are… unrequited… possibly undesired… and I could not bear the thought of losing your companionship, Gregory… but I also could not keep carrying them inside me without speaking up anymore. It was a terrible choice, but one I had to make.” He raised his eyes slowly, expecting to see disgust and ire on the face that haunted his dreams nightly. What he did not expected was the large, face-splitting grin that had took place, or the crushing hug in which he saw himself engulfed.

 

“Silly, silly Myc” a gentle voice murmured against his neck, sending shivers down his spine that weakened his knees. The arms encircling him only held tighter. “You never saw, did you? You may be the smartest man on the planet, but when someone fancies you, you’re completely oblivious, aren’t you? As oblivious as me...” Warm, calloused hands caressed his back, while the gravelly voice continued to whisper in his ear “We must be the most foolish men in existence, Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“What… do you mean you...”

 

“Fancy you? Exactly this, gorgeous. I think I fell for you the first time you kidnapped me, actually. Wouldn’t do anything, what with still being married, but I couldn’t take my mind off of you. Then, I started to know you, _really_ know you… And after my divorce, it only gotten worse and worse. Seeing you, all powerful and elegant in one of your bloody suits… Watching crappy movies, drinking, talking until the wee hours… I can’t count the number of times I came close to simply kiss you and see how you would react...” A soft, barely there kiss was bestowed under Mycroft’s ear, provoking a deep tremble.

 

Mycroft’s arms had found their way to Greg’s waist, and he held like that single point of contact was the only thing keeping him anchored to Earth, stopping him to ascending to the sky, floating away never to be seen again.

 

“I missed you so much these last weeks” Greg continued, nuzzling Mycroft’s jaw softly. “It was awful not having those little stolen moments of peace with you, Myc. And it hurts like hell to think that you were considering just vanishing from my life.”

 

“Gregory… I only wished to give you space. I feared I have been taken an inordinately amount of your free time with my petty needs, and I couldn’t bear the thought of inconveniencing you anymore. I could never imagine… I could never even dream that my feelings...”

 

“They are very much requited” Greg bestowed a chaste kiss upon Mycroft’s cheek, “very much desired”, another soft kiss landed on the politician’s forehead, making him close his eyes with a sigh “and very, _very_ much reciprocated.”

 

Mycroft felt his brain stop dead in its tracks when the soft, chaped lips of Gregory pressed against his.

 

The kiss was sweet, gentle, almost shy in nature. Greg’s hand found it’s way to Mycroft’s nape, fingers leisurely playing with the soft hairs. His other hand gripped the satiny back of the waistcoat, as if afraid to let go, as if he loosened his grasp Mycroft would vanish in a puff of smoke, forever lost. His mind was screaming _FINALLY!_ , his heart pumping like he had just finished a marathon, legs turning into jelly. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Mycroft’s, smiling softly.

 

“I waited years and years for this, and it couldn’t be more perfect.” He nuzzled against the other’s nose. “You couldn’t be more perfect”

 

Mycroft’s eyes were huge, the blue-grey only the faintest halo around his swolen pupils. He swallowed, trying to contain the gleeful laughter that was threatening to burst from his lips. He smiled, one of his rare, true smiles, and squeezed Greg’s waist.

 

“This has been quite the unexpected development, my dear” the endearment sent a warm feeling through Greg’s chest. “Perhaps we should continue our conversation inside, where there’s a fire going?” Greg could feel cold tendrils of air climbing beneath his leather jacket, and kissed Mycroft’s chin.

 

“I think that’s an excellent idea, gorgeous” the little pleased glow on Mycroft’s eyes was beautiful to look at. _I’ll be calling you gorgeous every single day from now on_. “But first...” he kissed him again, briefly, a smile that he couldn’t quite hold erupting. “Happy New Year, Myc.”

 

“Happy New Year, Gregory”

 

And it would most certainly be.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story grabbed me for the proverbial balls and wouldn't let me go.
> 
> I was writing my own New Year's confessional letter, pouring my heart out for a person, and when I finished and re-read it, I thought "Well, that looks an awful lot like something Mycroft would write to Gregory."
> 
> (And it felt an awful lot like it, as well. English is not my first language, but it is the language in which me and this person would talk most of the time, as a way to hide what we were talking about, and to practice our skills. So, it felt right to write it in English. It felt proper.)
> 
> And then... the story started to mold itself inside my mind, and would not let me go until I truly put it on paper.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> (Must I say that I hope the conclusion of my personal story is similar? Although in my rational mind I know that it won't)
> 
> Kudos and reviews are appreciated <3


End file.
